Resolution
by Scelerata
Summary: A New Year's celebration gets a little out of hand. [2009]


"So help me, Highwind-"

"What's the matter, Vince? Touchy t'night?"

"Angry. Get out of my way, before I move you myself."

That was the exchange that AVALANCHE was treated to at a sunny 12:15am, New Years morning. It had been a festive enough evening, with boozing, catching up, and, at the stroke of midnight, more than a few tongues down other people's throat, as it was customary to French people while completely inebriated on New Years Eve.

Or that's what everyone claimed the next morning, when they were regretting their spit-swapping, at least.

Not that the night had been one of regret, for most. Barrett had been fortunate enough to have a sloshed Tifa climb, less-than-shyly, into his lap at the chime, parting his lips with all the gusto of a cheerleader on prom night, and somewhere in the back of the room, Yuffie screamed in shock (and as would later be admitted, pleasure) as she was pinned to the wall by a delightfully tipsy Shera. Someone might've had the nerve to ask her, as she pulled away from Yuffie, the twiggy girl sinking with a stupid grin against the older woman's bosom, 'What about Cid?' (after all it was generally assumed that they were long involved), but such through processes were rendered outdated by the sound of shattering glass, and several heads snapped to attention to find said pilot leaning backwards against a table rather sloppily, beer mug shattered at his feet, the narrow frame of Vincent Valentine leaning over him like a carnivore over a kill.

To say they were kissing was an understatement. Vincent's lips were parted wide, his tongue taking rather obvious liberties with the inside of Cid's mouth, and though the captain bore an air of general shock and surprise, he was doing anything but fighting back. The exchange was extended and passionate, the smooch lasting long after eerie silence engulfed the room, and when Vincent finally pulled away, he was absolutely gasping for breath. It took him a moment to notice the heat of the collective gazes of his teammates on his back, and when he turned to face the mostly gaping expressions of AVALANCHE, Vincent did what he had always done best: He fled.

He never made it out the door, however. Cid had rightened and bolted after him, catching hold of the tail of his cloak, causing the gunman to stop, lest he get strangled by the mantle. Cid placed himself quickly between Vincent and the 7th Heaven doorway, and Vincent gave him a dirty look for his efforts, demanding icily that he remove himself immediately. Cid refused, of course, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, even when Vincent threatened to relocate the pilot himself.

"I don't see what ya got to be pissed about." Cid said pointedly. Vincent's face hardened.

"I don't owe you any explanation." He hissed, and Cid snickered.

"Really? 'Cause I figgered that's exactly what ya owe me, Vince."

Vincent glared, jaw clenched, and by nervous habit he shot a glance backwards, towards his teammates, all of which were staring with morbid fascination at the scene unfurling in front of them. He cringed, and turned his attention back towards Cid, who was glaring sternly, though not particularly angrily, merely wanting some goddamn answers. Vincent's jaw clenched tighter, but without much other options, outside of actually going through with his threat to maim the pilot, which he very much didn't want to do, he conceded.

"…it was a New Year's resolution."

"Ya resolved to stick yer tongue down my damn throat?" Cid questioned, a little incredulously, and Vincent cringed again. He bit his lower lip and sighed through his nose, clenching his eyes shut briefly in an apparent attempt to sort his thoughts. Cid was amazingly patient throughout the scene, watching him in intrigued silence, until Vincent got it in him to speak again.

"I resolved to…act on certain impulses this year."

"…impulses." Cid repeated, rather densely, as if Vincent spoke some strange foreign tongue.

"Impulses." The gunman confirmed, and behind him, someone snickered, though he was unsure of who, merely acknowledging the fact that, yes, he really would rather be anywhere else but where he was standing. Even the old coffin would have suited, in comparison to the mortification that slithered it's way up his spine. Cid seemed less bothered by the entire exchange, though then again, he wasn't the one in the hot seat, having only been the victim of a unprovoked snogging. Head tilted to the side, he seemed intent on mulling Vincent's statement around in his blond little noggin, as if it bore the answers to life itself, and when he finally did speak again, there was a certain sense of wonder and discover in his voice.

"…so ya got a thing for me."

Oh, how Vincent wished for once that Cid had a little more eloquence to him. Something, anything. Just enough to describe his festering emotions as more than 'a thing'. But, eloquence was not the way of the Highwind, and Vincent couldn't really slight Cid for being who he was…after all, it was him being who he was that had landed Vincent in the position where he was now.

"…yes." He admitted, after a painfully long pause. As if on cue, everyone in the room gasped in unison, as if life had become one big C-rate drama film, and Vincent and Cid just happened to have been cast as the miserable lead roles. Cid seemed less shocked by this astounding revelation than his teammates were, however, and in fact seemed almost bored by it. He tilted his head back, once again mulling over the prospects of the situation laid out before him, before slowly letting it sink forward. He grinned, and puffed out his chest a little, placing his hands on his hips in a manner most proud.

"Hot damn. Always figger'd I'd end up with somethin' pretty on m' arm."

"…excuse me?" Vincent questioned, taken aback, but didn't really have a lot of time or room to protest, as Cid mad a point to close whatever negligible distance there had been between them, wrapping one arm around Vincent's waist. He grinned up at him wildly, like a child staring into the face of Santa, and hooked the fingers of his free hand into Vincent's belt loop.

"You're the best damn thing in here t'night anyway." He pointed out, much to the offense of his female friends in particular, all of which seemed fairly scorned by the fact that had been bested by a man. Vincent had bigger concerns than the women's wrath, however, staring at Cid like the pilot had lost his goddamn mind.

"You're reciprocating?" He mumbled questioningly. He received a slightly bewildered stare and a broader grin for his efforts.

"Don't know what the fuck that means." Cid admitted. "But I like ya well en'ugh. Jes' didn't go around stickin' my tongue down yer throat 'cause I pretty much figger'd ya'd bite it off if I tried."

Vincent seemed dishearten by Cid's statement. "Is my personality really such a deterrent?"

He got another look that suggested that, like 'reciprocate', 'deterrent' was a word that far surpassed the current vocabulary of his semi-drunken, but all the same endearing companion. Deciding it was better not to question his personal appeal, he opted for a change of topic.

"So what exactly happens now?"

"Well." Cid began, taking on a very thoughtful expression, for the third time that night. "I figger, we'll finish drinkin', then we'll go upstairs, an' I'll try t' get in yer pants."

Immediately, the 7th Heaven was abuzz with laughter, and horrified chokes, though no amount of mental scaring could compare to the look on Vincent's face. Cid just clung tighter to him, as if to suggest that now that he'd gone and gotten himself involved in such a tangled web of affections, he wouldn't be able to go and untangle himself, and would, in fact, be stuck with him for a very long damn time. Not that Vincent minded; he just hadn't entirely realized what exactly he was getting himself into.

"You're…going to….seduce me." Vincent stated almost flatly, making sure he had, in fact, completely and utterly heard Cid correctly. Cid nodded boldly, tugging softly at the waistband of Vincent's pants, fingers still threaded through his belt loops.

"Y'ain't the only one with goals for this year."


End file.
